


at dawn

by lester_sheehan



Category: Classical Greece and Rome History & Literature RPF
Genre: F/M, Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-06-10 11:43:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6955141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lester_sheehan/pseuds/lester_sheehan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Terentia's reaction to Cicero's death. A short drabble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	at dawn

She hadn’t been warned, and for that, she never forgave them.

The cool December sun rose above the seven hills, casting a stifling glow across the city. The air was as heavy as gold, the ground as stiff as iron. It was unnaturally silent, as though every living thing was holding its breath, as though each step Terentia took towards the Forum was one step closer to the climax, the breaking point.

With a dark cloak wrapped tight around her shoulders, the hood drawn up and veiling her face in shadow, Terentia turned swiftly and called back to her slaves, “We need to move faster. Something is not right.” Her voice was unflinching, undeterred, but there was a thickness to it that surprised even her.

It was as if she already knew.

There was a crowd gathering in the Forum, hundreds talking in hushed whispers. The air felt more humid now, and Terentia fought to keep her breaths steady. A few faces turned to look at her, recognition dawning in their eyes—but something else too, a growing pity that she refused to see, refused to acknowledge. In that moment, she hated them all.

As more turned to glance in her direction, Terentia pushed the hood back from her face. A slash of sunlight filtered through the columns, cutting through her features; she lifted her chin, and the crowd began to part.

Drawing closer to the Rostra, the last figure she caught was that of Tiro, and in his face she saw everything that she needed to know. She witnessed it all, as clear as day. And it took every ounce of her strength not to fall to her knees.

She dragged her eyes to the platform, and there he was. Cicero’s head and hands were nailed up, defaced and defiled, hanging limply, as though there had never been any life in them at all. His eyes were closed— pale lids ringed with fading redness—and his lips were chapped and bloody.

A sob came from behind—one of the slaves who had once lived with Cicero, too—but Terentia did not cry. She stared at his face for a while longer, her own as rigid and emotionless as stone, and then she threw up her hood, turned, and walked back the way she had come.

Tiro ran after her, now a free man, and called her name. She ignored him entirely, until she was certain that only he, and the slaves that had accompanied her, were within earshot. Then she stopped so suddenly that they almost collided.

Without turning to look at him, she said, “Did you not think I deserved to know?”

“Terentia, I—” The words spilled out quickly, but she was faster.

“Did you not think that I deserved to know?” she repeated, tongue like poison.

Tiro exhaled heavily. “It happened in Formiae. Two nights ago. I only just got back to Rome myself.” He paused, tried again. “Terentia, I’m—”

“And yet,” she drew the words out slowly, like smoke from a flame, “you managed to arrive in the Forum just on time.” Turning now, a wry smile played at the edges of her lips. “Did no one think to send a messenger to my doors?”

He did not reply, and perhaps, in that moment, that was the wisest choice. She stepped closer, dress fluttering at her ankles, and leaned in close to his ear. Tiro winced, expecting a hissed rebuke, a murmured threat, but instead, Terentia’s face softened and she whispered, “I cared for him.” Her throat tightened. “Despite what they all say, I cared for him.”

Tiro watched as she withdrew, straightened her back, cleared her throat. “May you live long, Tiro,” she said, and this time, as the distance between them grew and she disappeared into the light of morning, he did not follow.


End file.
